Good Things
by themetaphornextdoor
Summary: Castiel thinks too much, Dean jumps to conclusions too much, and they're both scared to admit their feelings - until now. Ah, ye old 5x03 coda! Dean/Cas, PG-13, Angst, Fluff. 4,828 words.


**Warnings: **Very brief swear-word or two, nothing major.

**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship/Mild Angst - Slash/Proposed Slash

**Rating: **K+

**Spoilers:** Season 5

**Summary:** Castiel thinks too much, Dean jumps to conclusions too much, and they're both scared to admit their feelings - until now. Set after the 'brothel incident' in Season5 Episode3 "Free To Be You And Me"

**Author Notes: **This is my first one-shot, only my second fanfic ever. Be gentle? =) It's really just a little fluff, nothing too serious or complicated. Thank you to EvilPixey who looked over this for me and encouraged me to post it. =) Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_I've found a reason for me_

_To change who I used to be_

_A reason to start over new_

_And the reason is you_

_I've found a reason to show_

_A side of me you didn't know_

_A reason for all that I do_

_And the reason is you_

- The Reason, Hoobastank

* * *

Dean nudged an elbow unceremoniously into the trench coat covered ribs beside him. "_She's_ cute, Cas," he said, nodding towards a blonde sitting by herself at the end of the bar.

Castiel glanced at the woman. She was pretty, yes, but she seemed to be waiting for someone. She fidgeted slightly, looking at the door every few minutes. Something Dean hadn't noticed.

He wasn't completely sure why dean had brought him here, to this very ordinary bar in the middle of this very ordinary town. Well, he knew it was to get 'laid' as dean put it, but he wasn't sure just why Dean insisted that it was so important the angel had sex. He really wasn't interested in laying with someone he didn't know.

In all honesty, Castiel found every single person in the bar attractive, both women and men. Each of them had beauty in their souls, even those who had sinned multiple times – those who made a life out of their sins. There was always beauty buried in the soul. Sometimes it was harder to find than usual, but it was there.

Physically, also, he was attracted to everyone. Every person had their own unique ways of moving, their own curves or straight lines, their own expressive eyes - Castiel's personal favourite, if he were to have one. There was no competition. All were equally '_cute_', all drew his attention – just not in the way Dean intended. Or hoped.

The brothel had been a disaster, according to Dean, and yet he seemed to have drawn so much pleasure from that fact. And that found them here, perched on uncomfortable stools edging a round table too small to be practical, drinking alcohol and furtively scanning the smoky room. At least that was what Dean was doing.

Castiel looked over at him… he was grinning widely between mouthfuls of beer, eyes sparkling as they swept back and forth for 'possibilities' – as though this were just another hunt: an infinitely more pleasurable one, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

It appeared so important to complete this one mission – to prevent Castiel 'dying a virgin' – and Castiel mused that perhaps Dean saw it as at least one small thing he felt he had control over. Something he could achieve in a world rapidly coming apart at the seams, where he felt increasingly useless and lost.

It had occurred to him recently that since the brothers had gone their separate ways, he had, in fact, become something of a replacement for Sam. Dean obviously needed someone by his side, although he wouldn't explicitly admit it. And his perception of Castiel's innocence and inexperience appeared to fit this role.

Castiel was happy to play this part, for the time being. He was needed. He had also never corrected dean on his assumptions. While he was inexperienced in a vessel, he was far from innocent, in most ways. Thousands of years as a warrior attested to that. All that was needed was faith, and the willingness to carry out orders, no matter how unpleasant. He had killed, manipulated, lied, when necessary. Sex was not exactly a part of the agenda, and had never come into question for that reason. That wasn't to say he was in any way unaware or innocent of the subject.

But this was important to the hunter beside him. And in the rapid waning of his faith, the increase in his doubt – not to mention the slide into human emotion that was far from familiar – Castiel felt that he himself, _needed_. He needed this company. The familiarly of Dean's sarcasm and strength. He needed comfort – and it came in the form of he, himself, being needed.

So he played the game. He wore dean's hurtful words, his cutting statements. He welcomed the friendly slaps on the shoulder, the occasional genuine smiles gifted in his direction.

He did it because he wanted to. He needed to. And because he knew dean's anger, his rage, his pain, even his confusion and the humour he saw in Castiel's supposed misfortunes, the angel's perceived naivety – he knew it was all born of fear.

Dean's soul was bright, in it's entirety. It shone completely pure, the only mars being those of fear, granted expressed in a myriad of ways, but fear nonetheless.

Castiel understood fear.

Maybe that's why he was here after all. Scouting for a stranger to have sex with, just for Dean. Ironically, the only person in the bar he was even remotely interested in exploring that particular intimacy with was the man beside him.

He thought perhaps the connection between them had something to do with it – the brief mingling of their souls as they ascended from that dark place together, clinging together in mere spirit form. The sheer intensity of the event having left Dean's physical body with the mark of the angel's hand print – one he didn't even have at the time – which no rebuilding or cleansing or reviving of Dean's cells seemed able to remove. Castiel knew, as he'd made sure all marks and scars were gone before Dean drew his first breath.

However, Dean's fear shrouded the subject, seeing love between two men as something to be ignored, if not ashamed of – although deep down he knew Dean was a little more open minded than he'd be willing to admit out loud. Castiel could see that clearly, even without probing Dean's mind.

To be truthful, it had been some time since he had brushed up against Dean's thoughts, or searched his soul in such a manner. He knew it made the hunter uncomfortable, and even if he wasn't consciously aware of it happening, his body showed it's stress outwardly and Castiel felt his mind shiver, waver slightly and try to draw in against the perceived violation. Out of respect for Dean he'd ceased.

That wasn't to say he wasn't tempted. Especially at a time like this. Castiel had a feeling Dean would react terribly to the idea if he brought it up, but there was no way to be certain. After eons of certainty, he found this emotion the worst. Such a contrast to his nature, and he fought with it constantly. Decisions were hard now – something he'd never had to consider.

Such a _human_ concern, decisions. Sitting here in such a human _situation,_ wanting… another human. If Castiel wasn't so tired, he would probably laugh.

This was Dean's idea. And yet it was becoming, very rapidly, Castiel's desire too. Just in a different way than Dean had imagined.

Whether he would be frightened, laugh, run away, or refuse to talk to him, Castiel couldn't know. Perhaps they'd end up enduring an eternity of discomfort and stilted conversations, avoiding each others eyes, punctuated with uncomfortable silences and the need for a personal space zone of at least three hundred meters.

That, of course, was if they survived tomorrow, which, knowing Raphael, was highly unlikely.

But if they_ did_ manage to prevail against the odds…

Castiel was afraid to harm his relationship with Dean in any way. Yet the rapidly growing human nature in him was insisting he tell him. It was a tug-of-war between right and wrong - when he couldn't even be sure what right or wrong were anymore.

Another piece of evidence proving the humanness slowly settling into his soul. A few more cells of Jimmy Novak's body opening to accept a part of the angel's essence, of his mind and being. Or, more likely, the other way around.

Just another uncomfortable, slightly frightening occurrence that Castiel decided he would pretend not to care about.

In any case, with only Dean's verbal and non-verbal cues to piece together, it was almost impossible to hazard a guess as to how he felt about him. Castiel had been sure sometimes, in the way Dean had met his eyes, or not met them, in certain cases. In moments when he looked like he wanted to touch in some way, perhaps his shoulder, perhaps a hug, but had seemed to draw back. When his grace was fully present, and he thought nothing of glancing in to people's thoughts, it was never an issue. Now things were changing, and while he could still read Dean, should he wish to, he didn't. And very soon, he wouldn't be able to do that at all, even if he wanted to. Speech and body language really were going to be all he had to fall back on.

"Dean," he started, trying to lighten his voice, but finding it nearly impossible. "Every person here is attractive to me."

Dean lowered his beer and stared across the sticky table at the angel. "Don't think an orgy would be great for you first time Cas," he joked. At Castiel's blank stare – which Dean interpreted as not understanding what an orgy was – he frowned.

"Err, you serious? Everyone?"

The angel nodded once, and Dean took in the crowded bar again. "Even Miss. _I-wear-way-too-much-makeup-and-smoke-like-a-chimney_ over there?' he asked, pointing to a slightly overweight brunette by the pool table who stood with her partner, a tall, imposing man, with a possessive arm around her waist.

"She has wonderful strong legs; her hair is shiny and soft; and I find her eyes incredibly intriguing. She also looks soft, curved and beautiful – beneath the excess make-up." Dean wore a look of slight discomfort, and Castiel continued. "Her soul shines bright blue, concentrated around her chest. She bullies her co-workers, but only because of insecurity. Se doesn't believe she is as successful as them, and her defensiveness causes others - and herself - pain. However, she is passionate about animals, their unconditional love and acceptance. She once rescued a squirrel from the road after he'd been hit by a car. She nursed him for two weeks and cried for six days when he was well enough to be released again. This woman has an incredible capacity for affection and gentility, despite her anger."

Dean was speechless, which Castiel considered quite an accomplishment. His green eyes were wide and his head dipped slightly, still staring at him. After a moment or two he seemed to pull himself together and scanned the bar again.

"Ahhh, okay, Mr. Casanova, what about her," he said, pointing to a slim lady with red hair who appeared to be in her mid fifties. She was more than slim, Castiel thought, more like painfully skinny. She appeared underfed, or perhaps she was ill.

If Dean was going to pick out every woman in the bar that he himself wouldn't pick, in order to challenge Castiel's confession, it was going to be a long night.

The angel sighed slightly and gently pushed against her soul with his grace.

Yes, cancer of the lung. She had about seven months, by his estimation. He felt a sadness trickle in to his heart.

It must have showed in his eyes or posture as well, for Dean seemed to pick up on something.

"Cas? What is it?" he asked. Then returned to his joking indifference – the mask of indifference, that is. "You know older women can be quiet a catch," Dean winked and leaned closer. "Lots of experience."

Castiel glared over at the hunter and his wide, cheeky grin, which faltered slightly at the annoyance in his gaze, then returned, quickly.

How was it that Dean was able to read him more and more? He'd spent months in this vessel before his grace began fading. Months of indecipherable body language and expressions – or lack thereof. It wasn't an issue. Jimmy Novak's body, while accepted with gratitude for his sacrifice, was a means to an end. And with his full grace, there was no need to control more than his voice, his basic movements.

Now that control was slipping. Had been slipping for some time. Slowly but surely he, Castiel, was bleeding into this body, and the body was clinging on to the angel. Castiel briefly wondered if the departure of Jimmy Novak's soul was speeding things up, and not just his fading angelic grace.

It seemed a perfect situation, really – a match made in heaven, to coin a very clichéd human phrase that Dean would no doubt find hilarious. If it was an angel's intention to become human, that was.

Castiel sighed heavily this time. Sighing – another thing he was so unused to and which came unexpected each time it happened. But he couldn't seem to stop it. He really _must_, however, stop thinking so much, he considered morosely. It hurt too much to continue these circles in his mind - the choices he'd made, even though he'd regret none of them; the unexpected and unpleasant side effects. Not to mention a future unknown.

He almost felt as though he had a small understanding of just how easily Dean had wound up in his guilty, self-loathing state – having a lifetime of thoughts would do that to anyone, no matter what they'd been through.

Yes, I definitely have to stop thinking too much, Castiel thought. Too painful, dangerous, exhausting.

Now I'm thinking about not thinking, he thought suddenly. His eyes widened comically. Thinking about the fact that I'm thinking I shouldn't think…

"Cas!"

Castiel jumped visibly. Dean was staring at him intensely - humour, frustration and a faint hint of concern in his eyes. "What is it, you okay?"

"I was just… thinking, Dean," Castiel replied.

"Ab-_ooout_?" Dean questioned. He was staring at the angel with full concern now. The humour had gone. Most of his good mood too.

Castiel blanched again at how easy it was for Dean to read him now. But he tipped his chin up slightly and met the hunter's gaze. It was time to tell him.

He was terrified, really. Who knew secrets weighed so much, were so hard to keep – so… painful… And who knew just how important the man across from him would become in his life…

Now or never.

The noise and smoke filled air of the crowded bar seemed to drift away as Castiel focused on Dean. He knew his eyes were wide, could feel his hand trembling ever so slightly, his breath – his breath! – _hitching_ a little. So many human tendencies, so many physical reactions.

_Stop thinking!_

"Dean," he started, his voice lowering. "If… if I were to 'go home' with someone in this bar. If I were to chose a person I wanted to be with most. It would… be you. I… want _you_, Dean."

Castiel let out a breath of air so violent it felt like his chest was being ripped out. The relief was immense.

The angel watched as it took a few seconds before it dawned on Dean just what he'd said. He watched as confusion warred with disbelief then battled with denial. Like storms colliding with each other, back and forth - all in a matter of seconds.

He saw the colour drain from Dean's face, his lips parting in shock, his eyes flitting around the table to avoid Castiel's gaze, still trying to piece together his words. Watched as he licked his lips and swallowed uncomfortably, sitting stock still, frozen. His lips occasionally threatened to curl into a smile, as though he wanted to believe Castiel was joking, ribbing him. Then turned flat again, turning it all around in his mind.

Castiel, too, was frozen. If time stopped, or the bar caught fire, he wouldn't have noticed. And the truth of it hit him – he'd changed everything.

Suddenly a look of what could only be anger crossed Dean's face, and he locked eyes with the angel again. Castiel could see rage boiling beneath those green irises, and directed at him. Dean's lips pressed into a hard line. Rage, and a touch of… betrayal? He didn't understand.

But it soon failed to matter as Dean stood silently, his unfinished beer still sitting between them, across from Castiel's untouched one.

There were no words, no sounds, no clues to anything - and no goodbye, as Castiel watched Dean stalk through the crowded room and out the door.

* * *

Dean stood leaning over the hood of the Impala, hands splayed out against the black metal, his head bowed between his shoulders. The parking lot was empty and cold, and his breath escaped in puffs of smoke.

Castiel stopped a few feet from him, fists in his coat pockets, and simply stood there, gazing down at the gravel beneath his feet. He knew Dean would probably not handle his stare quite so well at this particular moment, and so he left the man some space. He was ready when Dean wanted to respond. In the meantime, he felt a need to be near him, as if it could possibly comfort him in some way, although he knew it probably wouldn't. He wanted to say something – anything. But he was at a loss as to what he could possibly say, especially when he had hardly a clue what the hunter was thinking.

He really shouldn't have told him. And an emotion that he'd had no experience with whatsoever washed over him – regret. Had he ruined everything?

Castiel didn't have to look at Dean to see his anger – he could feel it rolling off him in dark waves, the coils of tension held tight in his shoulders, even tighter after he had sensed Castiel follow him out into the cold night air.

The silence between them was like a rubber band stretched to breaking point, ready to snap. The only sounds their breathing; the now muted rumbles of music and voices from the bar they'd left; and the occasional truck shifting gears on the distant highway.

Castiel had been alive for eons, for a time that could almost be described as immeasurable. He had been created with a patience that was incomprehensible to humans – he could wait forever if need be. But all that had changed the moment he met the frustrating man beside him. The wilful, self-sacrificing, generous, kind, fearful, rebellious, unfathomable Dean Winchester. The man who had been born to play such a monumental part in the saving of the world, but who wanted nothing of it. At least not the way anyone but he, himself wanted it. Then Castiel had found impatience becoming a regular occurrence around Dean, a slow, simmering frustration as time began to run out and the hunter refused to make any attempt at understanding.

But things were different now – and that, perhaps, was what Dean and Sam might say was an understatement – and as he stood there, trying not to fidget, the seconds that passed felt like minutes, and the minutes like hours.

Castiel glanced up, when he finally sensed movement, to find the hunter shaking his head slowly.

"You son of a bitch," he said quietly, still staring down at the car surface.

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, but said nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. Waiting, really, for an outburst that hadn't come yet. Waiting for shouting and blasphemy and fists. But Dean's voice stayed low and even.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" again, Dean was shaking his head. His voice was low and even, but anger boiled dangerously beneath the surface. "You know, Cas, if you read my mind so much, then you'd know why I never talk about that, why I've never told you. It's stupid and wrong and just plain ridiculous. And something that should never be talked about, okay? But now you go and throw it in my face. I just don't _get _you, man."

Castiel was even more confused than before. He moved to take a step towards Dean but stopped short, unsure. He felt lost. Like Dean was speaking a different language.

"Dean, I don't understand…."

"I mean, what the _fuck_?" Dean spluttered as he straightened to face the angel. Here it came. His voice rose in volume and pitch. "Really, Cas! Why the fuck would you say something like that? Just to mess with me? You're sick. Or maybe… you know… if you didn't want to do this," Dean spread his hands out around him, "you just had to _say so_. No need to –"

"Dean, I don't…."

"Like hell you don't understand, Cas. _You read my god damn mind._ I thought you were a friend!"

Suddenly pieces began to fall into place in Castiel's awareness. It was a slow clicking at first, and when he suddenly realised what Dean meant, he felt both frightened and relieved – a combination of emotions that should be impossible, but drove up and slammed into him nonetheless.

But Dean was already opening the car door and sliding into the driver's seat. Castiel started, panicked, and threw out a hand to stop him, preventing the door from closing. Dean tried to yank it from him as he put the key in the ignition, but it wouldn't budge, the angel's long fingers gripping the metal with a strength still far beyond his.

"Dean, I didn't read your mind…." Castiel all but blurted out with a grace and speed far from angelic, but instead born of desperation. He couldn't let Dean leave before he explained. Before he set this right.

Dean simply stared up at him, his expression unchanged. "What?"

"If I'm correct, you're assuming that I read your mind, discovered that you felt attracted to me, and then told you I was attracted to you, in order to…. mess…. with you. That's not true. Why do you think I would want to do something like that? Of course I want to do this. More than you know. Just… not with any of those women or men in there. Not with anyone I know – except you. I didn't read your mind… I'm not lying. It's how I feel."

It was as close to 'babbling' as the angel had ever been, a mess of words and truth that just came rolling out unbidden, fast, unplanned, and running together on one breath like a never-ending monologue.

This was all new – all so painfully, terrifyingly, _new._ And Castiel felt as though he'd literally given Dean his soul to treasure or crush at will, whatever he might decide. This kind of vulnerability was completely unknown to him.

Angels are not vulnerable. Angels don't need to feel.

But Castiel felt nothing _but _vulnerable, as he waited for Dean's response. And he understood now - not just through knowledge, but through experience – how becoming close to someone opened you up to being hurt. Like taking off a suit of armour before a crowd of armed soldiers.

And he thought, just maybe, he could understand why so many people were frightened of intimacy. Terrified of honesty. Covering – shielding – themselves with whatever protection they could, be it physical isolation, aggression, excess weight, apathy, or, like Dean, sarcasm and humour.

He dropped his head slightly and visibly cringed as Dean's hand dropped from the car keys in the ignition. The hunter's face went slack, betraying no emotion at first. But Castiel could feel Dean's reluctance to believe his words as though it was a physical thing sitting between them. Dean's shock and disbelief, as it settled into him fully, was palpable - even though his face was impassive.

They continued to stare at each other, blue losing itself in green losing itself in blue - for what seemed like yet another eternity. Just as Castiel was about to let go of the door and turn away, Dean spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"Really?"

A spark of warmth unexpectedly lit up Castiel's chest like a flame. "Yes."

He watched as some of the anger trapped in Dean's muscles melted away. Suddenly he looked almost childlike. Castiel knew Dean well enough to know the hunter was afraid to hope. Hope led to disappointment, led to pain.

"You didn't read my mind?" Dean asked quietly, his eyebrows creasing slightly. He looked as though he was still ready to run, to disbelieve, even though it was waning. "You… you feel like that too?"

"I do. I haven't read your thoughts for a long time, Dean. I know it makes you uncomfortable. I know how much you cherish that privacy, and I didn't want to take that away from you."

The hunter slowly extricated himself from the car and stood before him. Castiel saw the dynamic shift. Suddenly, he was not the only vulnerable one. Dean was finally open, but still looked lost and afraid. Unable to trust and unwilling to hope. Waiting for another hand to strike him down, another practical joke to find it's punch line. Castiel thought about how unfamiliar it must be for Dean to feel that way. To own it.

And he knew how he felt, to a degree.

In a way, they were in this together now. Standing here chest to chest, freezing cold, in an empty car park in some town they'd both forgotten the name of. Hovering on the edge of the apocalypse, fighting for purchase on shifting ground. Both carrying empty holes where the things and people they'd lost used to be. Both afraid and vulnerable. Unprotected.

"Why… I mean, _me_? Come on. How could you even…? It's…. I never said anything because… well. It's… I just – _Christ_!" Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, before he met Castiel's eyes again. His babbling was significantly less eloquent than the angel's. "Cas…"

Castiel felt a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth, and the emotions he felt were unnameable. Just a maelstrom of feelings, sensations, and half thoughts. An amazing warmth; a slow trickling river of fire that turned into a burning that almost blinded. Then there was the peace, relief unlike he'd felt before, despite everything around them. A ridiculous, utterly human, joy that threatened to bubble up to the surface in an explosive laugh.

But in the end, all he did was smile and lean closer, until there was barely an inch between the two of them. He pressed a finger gently against Dean's still moving lips, quieting him.

"Good things do happen, Dean."


End file.
